


canvas

by mangozaya



Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, No Dialogue, its just messy descriptors, nonsense color visuals, this is me attempting to break writers block
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-11
Updated: 2021-01-11
Packaged: 2021-03-16 00:21:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 849
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28697625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mangozaya/pseuds/mangozaya
Summary: Chan’s own body, once only used as the foundation for Changbin’s acrylics, now mixes with Jisung’s strange textures of clay and drying paint, creating rough textures and entirely new color mutations.(Chan's a perfect canvas.)
Relationships: Bang Chan/Han Jisung | Han/Seo Changbin
Comments: 4
Kudos: 22





	canvas

Chan can’t help the occasional flinch away from a new color muddling in with the tones already spread out across his skin. The paint has been out in the sunlight for hours, but it’s still cold to the touch, and Changbin gives little warning before dipping his brush into a new shade.

Against the drawn black curtains of Changbin’s workspace, Chan is most beautiful covered in selective hues of blue and lilac, the diluted pigments swirling in the dips of his collarbone and splayed across his shoulders—separated from the paint, the dispersed droplets of water run cold down Chan’s back, pooling at the blanket gently laid out for them both to settle comfortably on.

Changbin knows his own talents; he can turn just about anything into an artform using a simple set of primary colors and endless patience.

Sometimes, he dabbles in other forms, and afternoons are spent on perfecting clay molds of a sculpture he’s been working on alongside Jisung. The clay model’s features distinctly shape out to a man grasping at his own ribs in pain, his soulless eyes carved wide open, his clay skin molded to accommodate the indents that scraping nails might have left behind. Jisung has always been wild with his works, skillfully smoothing out lumps of clay that always end up greeting viewers of the sculptures with a gruesome sight. It’s this stark contrast with Jisung’s sunny disposition that people assume there _must_ be hidden meaning in what Jisung creates, but Changbin knows better.

Jisung spends hours carving—until his forearms burn and his vision blurs—simply to entertain. There’s no hidden meaning, nothing to unravel, nothing fragile, nothing left bare for his viewers to break apart until they’ve given Jisung a new identity entirely.

Jisung is only ever gentle when he crafts madness. He’s filled with the tint of golden glitter, and his shimmer always dusts lightly across Changbin’s cheek where Jisung draws him close enough to count his lashes a thousand times over.

Jisung’s teasing kisses somehow bring with them the assurance of a steady stream, clay evident just underneath Jisung’s fingernails as he presses insistently into Changbin’s forearm, grounding them both against Changbin’s canvas hung up against his workshop’s wall. It’s always sunset and littered earthy tones that cover Changbin’s plaster canvases. Reds tend to dominate simply because he thinks its loveliest against a white background; sometimes his own art has no deeper meaning beyond aesthetics. That’s something he’s learning from being in love with Jisung.

In the same way, Changbin also being in love with Chan means that he can never quite get his purples and blues to blend on canvas as well as they do across Chan’s skin.

That doesn’t mean that Chan doesn’t try to influence the way both artists work with such different mediums. When Jisung chews his lip until it’s raw—working on the same piece for hours with no breakthrough—biting straight through without recognizing the pain that’ll show itself later, Chan gently draws Jisung chin up, his gaze warm and steady, and parts his lips, kissing metallic copper. The red of blood, once only meant for Changbin’s canvas, now coats Jisung and Chan in equal parts, and Changbin can’t help but be mesmerized.

Chan’s own body, once only used as the foundation for Changbin’s acrylics, now mixes with Jisung’s strange textures of clay and drying paint, creating rough textures and entirely new color mutations. Jisung takes a special kind of care in dragging his carving tools against Chan, careful not to break skin, but instead molding his own layers of clay on Chan in no particular form.

 _You’re our perfect canvas_.

It’s a whisper from Jisung against the slope of Chan’s spine, tingling it’s way down each ridge like a promise against shivering skin. Changbin continues to trail cold acrylics across the expanse of Chan’s hunched back, taking care to press a dry kiss near each area his paintbrush covers.

Wrapped up in stolen moments, Jisung makes sure to swipe a streak of clay across Changbin’s lips, leaving him to spit out several times before retaliating by flipping the bristles of his brush directly onto Jisung’s collar, decorating his own skin with the blues once only meant for Chan. They catch Chan’s eyes watching over them fondly from where he’s still dripping in purple and swirling clay, his nose scrunching as Jisung smears a few drying flakes of paint chips alongside his cheekbone, a stark contrast against Chan’s pale skin.

Changbin doesn’t miss the red flush from the tips of Chan’s ears, trailing down to the indents of his hips from where Jisung had held him down, biting and prodding an impressive assortment of purple and staining bruises along Chan’s body, leaving him an even more muddied chaos of cool tones.

It takes hours of work, softened clay and paint dripping slowly like wax from a dying candle, but eventually the color wheel on Chan’s back spins to an inky black from applied acrylic layers and dark clay likened to charcoal.

This too is beautiful, swirling into the depth of Chan’s skin.

**Author's Note:**

> treasure's comeback inspired this but then i accidently wrote the dynamic to 3racha, and here we are
> 
> [twt](https://twitter.com/izayashu)


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